


Fight Songs

by homsantoft (tofsla)



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 14:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5542658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tofsla/pseuds/homsantoft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>F/F drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Isabela/Hawke - Incorrigible

“You ought,” Hawke said, “to be more careful, you know.”

Isabela smiled. “Whatever do you mean, darling? I hardly do a thing that you wouldn’t do.”

Hawke stared her down. She was always at her most gorgeous when provoked. Stern. It made Isabela want to dig her claws in.

Perhaps later.

“At some point,” Hawke said, “Aveline will get tired of pretending she doesn’t cover for you and actually stop. Who exactly haven’t you stolen from in this city?”

“Why, Hawke,” Isabela said. “You, of course.”

A twist of red on her arm.

Hawke threw her head back and laughed.


	2. Isabela/Aveline - Dissent

“What’s this?” Isabela says, plocking up the book from Aveline’s desk. “Poetry? Is it naughty?” It is, of course. Isabela’s favourites.

Aveline’s hand is rough on Isabela’s arm. Her eyes are—not angry. She probably meant to look angry. “Put that down.”

“Ooh,” Isabela says. “Orders? Is that today’s game? I should’ve guessed you’d like that. Or do you want me to misbehave so you can spank me?”

Aveline laughs sharply. In company, she’d spit fire. “That part’s not much of a game.”

“I know,” Isabela says. “I'm very bad.”

A biting kiss. Fire of a different sort.

Isabela laughs.


	3. Sera/Harding - Vigil

Harding, face turned up to the sky at the edge of camp. In a sudden lull, the silence becomes weird, oppressive. Sera treads heavily to fill it. Kicks sand. Pebbles skitter.

“Pretty, innit?” she says, drops to sit beside Harding, grins up at her. “When you can see it past the friggin sand.”

Harding’s pretty too. Nice-pretty, not scary goes-on-forever wasteland pretty. Here she is, standing watch while healers fuss around Cadash.

“Hey, you,” Sera says, nudges her leg. “She’ll be fine. World’s not going to bloody end.” Grabs her hand and kisses it, mock formal.

There: a laugh. Finally.


End file.
